


confidential

by verity



Series: tween wolf [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Middle School, Friendship, Gen, Middle School, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:16:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has been curious ever since he was born, putting his hands and mouth and mind all sorts of places they weren't supposed to go. Take his numerous toddler flirtations with electrical outlets, the incident in kindergarten where he swallowed a penny, or the many, many times he bugged his dad to tell him about ongoing investigations even though his mom always put her foot down...</p>
            </blockquote>





	confidential

Allison drops into the chair next to Stiles and slides her viola case under the table. Stiles always worries he's going to kick it when he sprawls back in his chair. He'd be happier if Allison kept her instrument in her locker, but she doesn't have time to stop there on her sprint to the orchestra portable after fifth period. So: the uneasy detente between Stiles's feet and the viola case continues.

"Did you finish writing the lab report last night?" Allison says. "I did the graph, but—"

Stiles fishes the paper out of the bag: it's a little crumpled, but complete. "Behold, ye of little faith. We're set."

Allison looks up from her backpack, zippered pencil case still in hand. "Thanks. I just—I'm not great at school. I was worried about it."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles says. "You're awesome. Have you _seen_ Scott's homework?"

Allison shoots him a pointed look. "No."

"Hey, come on." Stiles taps his fingers on the lab report. "Friends have to help each other out."

Allison smiles, opens her mouth to say—

The late bell rings.

—

Stiles can't blame Scott for his kind of embarrassingly obvious crush on Allison. Allison is the coolest person they know. (Lydia doesn't count: she's never deigned to recognize Stiles's existence, although she did lend Scott a sheet of paper once in fourth grade.) She's deadly with a bow and arrow, she beat Scott at Pokemon the first time they busted out the trading cards at lunch, not to mention her past history of juvenile delinquency, namely, cow-tipping. There's an air of mystery around Allison, too: she never mentions any friends from before she lived in Beacon Hills, she doesn't seem to do anything but archery and viola practice and homework, and she always goes straight home after school.

"It's like she's permanently grounded," Scott says mournfully after a lunchtime of trying to convince Allison to come hang out with them at Scott's after school. "She doesn't even seem to think it's _weird_."

"I know, Scott," Stiles says. "I was there."

Allison lets little things out, every now and then. They've staked their place at the lunch table, waiting for Scott to run back to his locker and grab his homework, when Stiles looks at his pizza surprise and asks, "So, how do you like Beacon Hills?" mostly because's he rueing his own life choices in being born and raised in a town that can produce pizza that even _he_ doesn't want to eat.

Allison has a mouthful of PB&J she chews and contemplates. "Better than LA and Cleveland, but not as much as Nashville."

"Do you move a lot?" Stiles says, because, yeah, that's three more places that he's lived in his entire life.

"Yeah, for my dad's job. We don't usually stick around in one place too long."

Stiles can't help it, his face falls. "Oh. Well—It's nice having you here for now, I guess."

"No," Allison says quickly, "No, we're—" She ducks her head. "School's gotten kind of… messed up. I had to repeat fifth grade last year. I think my parents want to stay in one place for a while."

"Yeah?" Stiles says. "Like, Beacon Hills?"

"I think so." Allison gives him a small smile. "My mom wanted to move here 'cause it's really safe."

—

Dad's in the dining room when Stiles gets home from school, papers spread out in front of him. He's started getting up earlier for his overnight shifts, working on a new case he's taken over from Deputy Rodriguez. Usually, Dad's pretty cagey about his cases, but he refuses to talk about this new one with Stiles at all. As soon as Stiles steps into the kitchen, Dad starts pulling his files in toward him, flipping shut the open manila file folders and stacking the papers. He's not quick enough to hide all of the glossy photographs scattered to the ends of the table, though, and one's unmistakeable: the star-shaped birthmark on Kelly Hale's cheek.

Stiles drops his backpack onto the kitchen floor. "You're working on the Hale fire? Wait, does that mean—"

"We're not discussing this," his dad says. "This stuff is confidential, Stiles, and you can't talk to Laura—"

"You got a new lead?" Stiles says. "Is that why?"

Dad sighs, rubs his temples. "Stiles. 'No' is not negotiable. It means no. And these files are coming with me to work, so don't think you can sneak a look at them later."

Crap.

—

Stiles has been curious ever since he was born, putting his hands and mouth and mind all sorts of places they weren't supposed to go. Take his numerous toddler flirtations with electrical outlets, the incident in kindergarten where he swallowed a penny, or the many, many times he bugged his dad to tell him about ongoing investigations even though his mom always put her foot down about—

He's never thought that much about the Hale fire, because it happened the month before Mom died. The last month of Mom. And now that he knows Laura, he feels weird about asking about it, like it's something private that belongs to her, more private than her wolfy nature or guarded woods. It's easy when it's just him and Laura to pretend like that stuff doesn't hurt; it's better than pretending the rest of the time that it never happened.

"I don't know how it's possible to mess up microwaved broccoli," Laura says, staring at the bowl in front of her. It quivers sadly. "You deserve a medal, Stiles. For being the worst."

"Your mom's the worst," he says, rolling his eyes.

"My mom's dead," Laura says flatly.

"Yeah, well," Stiles says, "so's mine."

Sometimes he thinks about Laura's mom. He must have met her, sometime, picking up Kelly from school, around town, in the grocery store. Stiles doesn't remember her, though, or any of the other Hales, except for Kelly's uncle Peter. He used to run the hardware store downtown.

—

"Thanks for dissecting," Allison says, carefully not looking at the frog. She's a little green around the gills. "This is gross, oh my god, _so gross_."

"You can write the lab report," Stiles says. "I believe in you."

**Author's Note:**

> next on Tween Wolf: more Scott!
> 
> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
